Of Various Lands and Stories
by Zellarest
Summary: Four: Percy has started to spend his time in a pub. While there, he meets one Oliver Wood. They have a conversation that helps him realize something he has known all along and something he hasn't. / OliverPercy. Slash.
1. that would be enough

Written for the Modly Comp at the HPFC

Is this happy/humorous enough? All I could manage for ages was endless angst, so this is a definite improvement.

Words: 660 without AN (I used the wiggle room 'till I could wiggle no more)

House: Gryffindor

Wand: N/A

Subject: History of Magic

Option: A

Task: "Cast a Warming Charm! Write a happy, humorous or heart-warming story with the aim to warm your readers. Since you'll be falling asleep soon, your maximum word limit is 600 words. Stipulation: no smut. It makes this particular Charm harder to control."

Score: I'd like my score for each category please!

Also written for the Setting Boot Camp Challenge, with the prompt "that would be enough."

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With a rusted, well, _everything_ and a weathered paint job, the ancient Ford Anglia is less than perfect. With each crevice crawling with vines, the trunk harboring all sorts of vegetation, and the leathery backseat catering to a rotting owl carcass, the car is deemed in need of a fixing-up.

Teddy, fifteen years old with no mechanical experience, takes up the task eagerly. Day and night he slaves over the thing with Victoire accompanying him upon his request. With the sun glaring down on the partially painted hood, Victoire is convinced he's got no clue what he's doing.

"Hey, kelp for brains, do you even know what this does?" she asks, holding what looks like a bent hammer with half a head.

"Yes, that is a crowbar, and I'd like it back, thank you very much."

She pouts and turns on her heel, sauntering up the hill and back into the towering house, muttering to herself all the while.

The next time she sees him with the car is not a few days later when he enlists her help. Or, as he puts it, "mere assistance."

"I'll show you mere assistance..." she mutters, heading to where he stood in front of the car.

The hood is up, hiding what is surely a flushed face smeared with black and blotched with an assortment of bruises from what he dismisses as 'learning wounds.'

With an almost imperceivable sigh he turns to her and asks, "Vic, could you c'mere please?" in a bright tone that she can tell is forced by its unusual edge.

Too cheerfully does she reply, "Why, of course!"

For her efforts she receives a weak scowl, to which she grins cheekily and leans under the hood to see what he's so interested about before he halts her investigation.

"Grab me that... uh, thing there."

"This?" she asks, holding up what she suspects is a hammer.

He replies with a kind of approving "Uh hm," to which she scowls.

"Thank you, Mister Unhelpful."

"I'm sorry if I'm too busy working to define every tool you're unfamiliar with, Miss Weasley."

Her scowl deepens at this. "Well excuse me, Mr Lupin, if I don't care to know every bloody tool you can't seem to get for yourself!" she retorts.

His every muscle stiffens at her words. Too late does she realize what she's said to upset him so.

"I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

He cuts across her, "You think I'm lazy?"

"W—what?"

"You said I can't get them myself. Did it ever occur to you that I _like_ you here? That I enjoy your company so much to invite you everyday?" he asks, staring at her with unnerving blue eyes.

So distracted by the intensity of the eyes that so resemble raging seas of vicious tides and rain, she finds herself lost for words. Using this as an opportunity, he steps closer. So close that she can see every swipe of grey in his endless eyes and observe every glint of gold in his blond locks.

With his breath ghosting across her dampened lips and sending shivers down her spine, he drags a thumb against her cheek.

"Did it ever occur to you that you mean everything to me? More than this car, more than myself, more than anything in the world? That you could never love me enough to _say_ you love me, but come down to this garage and watch me while I work at this excuse to see you everyday and that would be enough for me?"

"I—uh—it's... I—I j—just... I—Tedd—" she stumbles over each word, struggling to comprehend what that all means.

"What, Victoire?"

"I—I do love you," she whispers, watching as the corner of his lips twitch into a smile.

"I knew you'd say that."

Their lips connect and dance together then, and everything is _perfect_.

.,.,.,.


	2. Brave

For Herbology over at Hogwarts using the prompts _someone must kiss someone_, _broken_, _next-gen_, _2020_, _Teddy/Victoire_, _I just feel awful_, and _summer vacation_,

the Opposite Day challenge doing angst,

the Snakes and Ladders challenge using Teddy Lupin,

the As Strong as We Are United comp using the prompt _sun_,

the Setting Boot Camp challenge using _things will get bette_r,

and DADA at the Modly Comp.

Modly Comp:

House: Gryffindor

Magical status: Muggleborn witch

Option: C

Wand: TBA

Words: 627

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"What... what if I don't make it?"

The grass ghosts across their feet in the little wind that passes by them. A shadow casted by the towering Burrow behind them shields them from the light of the slowly setting summer sun. Their knees touch, but he can barely make out her words in the low whisper he knows she cannot bare speaking above.

With the gentlest touch, he cradles her hand in his, lacing their fingers together before saying, "You will make it Vic. Don't talk like that."

Victoire's whole body collapsed into his, her nose settling in the crook of his neck. "It's just... I just feel _awful_. I don't want to do anything anymore. I feel like the whole world is constricting my lungs and one day I'm just not going to breathe anymore. I don't... I don't want to be like this anymore Ted. Whatever this is, I just want it to stop," her voice trembles and cracks and reminds him of a tree in an earthquake.

It is all Teddy can do to hold her and brush his lips across her forehead. "I know this isn't easy, but you've got to try. Don't let it become you."

"You say that like I'm strong enough to."

"You are. I know you are."

She laughs in that hollow way that makes his chest ache terribly before whispering, "Just because I'm a Gryffindor doesn't mean I'm _brave_."

Behind the cracking whisper, in the hopeless way it tumbles past her lips, it comes off as if she's saying it to herself more than Teddy. Like it's been haunting Victoire for her entire life.

"You don't need to fight dragons or be able to get on a broomstick to be strong when it counts."

"I'm not seven years old anymore. This isn't a dragon! This is _cancer_. I can't fight it, Ted. It's eating me from the inside out, don't you understand?"

With cold, desperate hands he take hers into them. "I can't understand how it's making you feel, I never will, but I love you. I just want to help you get better. You can't if you keep running away before seeing the Healers. This isn't helping anything, Vic. Running doesn't solve everything," his voice breaks harshly on the last word.

Without so much as blinking, she murmurs, "I'm not running from the Healers. I'm running from the cold hard fact. I'm going to die, and it's not going to be in a sweet old cottage by the sea at ninety-seven with you by my side as I drift away in my sleep. It's going to be in a scratchy hospital bed at eighteen with you having had enough of me as I finally face that I never got to live before I died."

It's a few moments before he says, "I'm never leaving you. If anything, it'll be you leaving me in that salty cottage at ninety-seven."

"You'll get sick of me and my brokenness my dying and realize that you've still got time, why are you wasting it on a dying girl?"

"You've known me all your life, and have I ever given up on you? You're a fighter, you've always been."

With a sigh she muttered, "This is a battle I don't think I'm going to win."

He hummed into her hair, "If you say so, love."

"You're the most stubborn person I've ever known."

"And you're the bravest," he answered. "Always."

The sun dipped below the horizon. Teddy could only hope the sunrise predicted better results.

Victoire didn't.


	3. Comfort

Written for the Modly Comp at the HPFC!

House: Gryffindor

Round: 4

Wand: N/A

Task: Option C: "You fail miserably, and manage to accidentally cast an Incendio charm, setting Professor Allie's hair on fire. She's mad, your classmates are mad, and you're disappointed. Your first day in class, the new kid, and you've already managed to mess up! Your Task: Write an angst fic. As long as it's angsty angst angst, anything goes. Stipulation: If choosing this option, PM Professor Allie for prompts so that you can clean up the mess you made! You will receive five prompts and must use three of them."

prompts: time, forget, stranger.

Words: 1406

Score: Please PM me with a score for each category.

.

She is Roxanne Weasley, caramel-haired and copper-skinned, her eyes like molten chocolate. When she sits down on the rickety old stool, her eyes shine with excitement, rather than the nervousness that everyone else's hold.

Roxanne's every moment is spent looking for the rolling hills, vast oceans with the wavering ships that sailed their waters, and the knight clad in shining armor; the things of stories so often told she could recite them by heart. So convinced of their unquestionable existence, Roxanne bristles when one of her cousins challenges them. Her defence never wavers from its riled stance: "You're magical, you're the pinnacle of myths, you're related to the very man who defied death itself, yet you refuse to believe that there are such things as pirates and happily ever after?"

No one is surprised at the great hat's decision. It opens its lips, nothing but a tear in the fabric, and screams for even those as far as the great bronze doors to hear, "GRYFFINDOR!"

.

She is Molly Weasley, clumsy and awkward, thin and scrawny like a withered bird. Her mousy brown hair falls in her eyes and over her gawky glasses. Always tucked away in an abandoned corner of the library, nose stuck in a book and toes gripping the seat of the chair. No one speaks to her much, and that is how she likes it. She has been quiet and reserved since the very second her eyes fluttered open.

Every moment is spent with a book in one hand and a quill and parchment in the other. Molly cautiously obeys her father and the words that he fall from his thin lips with a tone like rope pulled too tight. Her expression appeared blank and she seemed lost for words whenever someone did make the effort to coax some words out of her. They never came and eventually everyone gave up.

Except for Roxanne.

Her soft tones would guide her hand across the page and slow her erratic breathing whenever she became overwhelmed. Her hand slipped into Molly's for comfort. Roxanne was never the one who needed it.

Roxanne stood up when the Hat called out her House, beaming and clapping enthusiastically with the rest of the them. Molly let out a gasping breath that everyone mistook for joy.

"RAVENCLAW!"

When Molly began trembling and her breath tumbled past her lips, she didn't feel the warmth of Roxanne's hand in hers or the gentle sounds of her nameless song. Even as all of the students, clad in blue and silver and glowing smiles, welcome her with open arms, Molly has never felt so alone in her life.

.

In the years to follow, Molly becomes a stranger to her own family as they find their own. Some follow the tradition and don scarlet and gold. Whistles sound throughout the hall. Proud smiles greet those who sit at the spot where their mothers and fathers had sat before them. Others garner gasps and stunned silence as they join the sea of silver and green and some skitter over to the mass of gold and black with averted gazes and masks of happiness. A few students give them reassuring pats on the back and comforting smiles, and whisper words into their ears that Molly could never know.

Molly stands up with the others when those who have proven themselves to be of Ravenclaw material join the ranks of all the rest. The others, her supposed family, stand with straight backs and rigid smiles as they greet the newcomers. Molly only sighs and issues them a bored, "Welcome."

She doesn't catch the grins that the honey-filled Gryffindor sends her from across the Hall. The distance between them might as well be an ocean, but Molly still feels the warmth of her soft gaze and glowing smile. Even time could not shatter their bond.

.

After years of shutting herself away, Molly finally gets her wish. Everyone leaves her to the scratches of her quill against the parchment. To the shadowy corners that only she knows of. To her books and lonely words that comfort her.

The only one that doesn't abandon her is Roxanne. The sweet sound of her voice dances in the air with the scratches. Her fingers taps on the wooden surface of the table. It burrows under her skin and crawls underneath her flesh, sending shivers down her spine. Still, she says nothing.

The smile that crosses her lips isn't missed.

.

They've been through exams, boys, more exams, and skepticism from those of their Houses about their friendship but still they are, as their Grandmother puts it, close as a needle and thread. Roxanne still laces their fingers together when everyone is looking and when everyone is not. Molly lets her.

Even when she leans over to her during study hall and whispers sweet melodies of myths and monsters slayed by the heroes. Or maybe it is a story, and every word that falls from her lips sounds like those of a song. Molly cares of neither. All she pays mind to is the way her lips press flush against her cheek after the very last word and the hands that slips into hers as Roxanne turns back to her homework.

.

It rains on the day of their leaving. The grass is slick with wetness and the lake looks like a raging sea, but Roxanne still manages to coax Molly outside. She stands knee deep in the water with the hem of her skirt brushing the surface. Her head is tilted toward the sky and her arms are held away from her sides like a bird about to take flight. Molly stands awkwardly on the edge of the water, squinting to even make out her figure.

When arms wrap around her waist and there is a warmness ghosting across her lips, Molly isn't hesitant to react. The warmth of Roxanne's lips spread throughout her body. Molly feels it from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. The rain is no longer cold and the water falls still around her calves.

She feels the tickle in her stomach and that is when Roxanne pulls away.

.

It is years after that day when Molly finally sees Roxanne again.

The flat feels damp and cold with the first rainstorm in weeks pounding against the windows. Rose had moved out the past week and found a place with Scorpius. Lily moved out a few days after that. The flat is oddly empty without them there, and Molly is reminded of how much she enjoyed their company.

When the knock comes at the door, Molly is hesitant to answer it. The blankets are wrapped snug around her and a book sits in her lap. With a sigh, she untangles herself and heads for the door. The final lock opens with a click and the knob turns with a great creak. The door swings open with a sharp squeak to reveal a drenched Roxanne. Her hair falls limp around her shoulders and her clothes cling to her skin. She is shivering like a leaf in the wind.

Without a second thought, Molly ushers her in.

Roxanne slumps in the kitchen chair as Molly readies some tea. She wraps a blanket around her shuddering shoulders before the scream reverberates through the air. A sigh tumbles past Roxanne's lips when Molly hands her the cup.

When she is finally able to speak without her teeth chattering uncontrollably, Roxanne tells Molly the story. Of smacks and punches given to her by her boyfriend. Jeering and laughs when he did it in front of his friends. And how she could never tell the family for fear of them laughing at her, too.

Throughout the story Molly's vision begins to blur. The watery-blue irises glisten with tears that swiftly run down her cheeks. While the last words of how Roxanne finally decided to come to her talks past her lips, Molly embraces her, caring little about how wet and cold she is.

Roxanne melts into the hug and they sit there for what feels like several hundred years. Molly finally pulls away and wipes away her own tears in addition to the ones that roll down Roxanne's face. This time, she is the one to comfort Roxanne.

The kiss is like a defibrillator to her life since Roxanne left and Molly forgets how to breathe.

She doesn't mind all that much.


	4. A Chance Encounter

Written for the fifth round of the Quidditch League as Chaser 3 for the Chudley Cannons. Prompts: **Percy Weasley, forgetful, dialogue: "We're running out of time,"** and **"Who is she?"**

Written for Modwarts using the prompts: **determined, charm, firstimpression, see, uneasy silence, and fight.**

Words: 1140

Enjoyyy!

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Wind pounded at the paned windows. One had a substantial crack down the surface, like a lightning bolt on the bold green sky of the cheaply tinted glass. Names and dates, hearts and crosses on the end of pointed arrows, and other rubbish were etched into the wood of the door. The bar had met the same unfortunate fate by those who thought leaving a mark in a cheap pub meant living on even in death. The air stank of stale alcohol and pungent odors like sweat and things unimaginable.

Percy couldn't recall the moment he had reached the level at which a lowly pub had become something of the norm. Maybe he had been there all along. Even though the war had officially ended three months before, memories carved by the savage bloodshed at the last battle haunted them all. Percy wasn't an exception.

In the hand that wasn't grasped around the neck of a bottle of firewhiskey, Percy clutched a photo of a beautiful young woman with bouncy brown curls and raw pink cheeks, inches away from the camera. Smiling bashfully, she graced him with a shy wave. With a graceful gait she backed away and did a perfectly sound somersault. The girl allowed a parting wink and mischievous grin, the girl giving a shy wave as the enchanted picture began again.

With a crease between his eyebrows and a frown on his lips Percy took a dizzying swig from the bottle.

Nearing the end of the evening, he counted two entire bottles of firewhiskey. Empty. Having drained their contents, and being well on in the third, he hailed the barmaid and ordered another. The world began to spin, throwing dizzying colors and making three barmaids. In the same moment his vision swam as if engulfed in water. Things became exaggerated in their features and blurred heavily.

Percy's head pounded with a wicked intensity. The pain was so that a tornado could have been dispensing its wrath outside and he wouldn't have paid mind.

After a mere moment of dull silence, a sharp creak rang through the air and the door to the pub swung open. A large gust of biting winter wind burst in with a group of tall, burly guys. A few of them knocked into Percy on their way past the bar, guffawing as they went. Percy ignored them and pressed his palm into his eye in an attempt to extinguish the throbbing pain there.

One of the taller, more fit guys seperated from the group and stepped up to the bar. He wore a jaunty grin and a deep blue shirt with 'Puddlemere United' written across it in big, bold, yellow lettering. His dark hair gave the appearance of being windswept, the depths of his brown eyes sparkling with endearing mischief.

The young man turned his undeniable charm on the barmaid. "Yes, I'll take," he performed a head count of all his friends. "Seven butterbeers for me and my buddies here, please."

The barmaid flushed and nodded feverishly. A giggle arose while she rushed off for the drinks.

The fit young man looked over to the others and grinned sheepishly before turning his attention back to the bar. For a moment he fiddled with a square coaster. Then he glanced over at Percy, who felt ready to puke.

With a few steps he put a hand on his shoulder and asked, "Whoa, you all right there buddy?"

"Go away," Percy muttered, pushing his hand off.

"Well, don't you make a charming first impression," he commented. "First time drinking firewhiskey?"

Percy turned an unflattering green. Just before the contents of his stomach rose, a tall bucket appeared at his feet. It was for not, as he fell and vomited on the creaky floorboards. A wave of shivers rolled down his spine. For some reason, it made him feel better.

The young man surveyed the situation with an amused smile. "It was a good thought," he supposed with a shrug.

The whole mess disappeared with a wave of a wand. Percy had his arm put around the other young man's shoulders. The ground became very far away as he was hefted up onto a stool. An uneasy silence followed.

"Uh, I'm Oliver, Oliver Wood. You remember me, Percy?"

"We shared a dormitory together," Percy pointed out sourly. "Yes, I do."

Oliver nodded. "Who is she?" he asked, pointing to the photo.

"An old friend, is all," he answered gruffly and shoved the photo into his coat pocket. "My turn: what are you doing here?"

Oliver flashed a sheepish smile. "The guys wanted to grab a couple of drinks after the game, and I couldn't really refuse," he explained. The thought seemed to make him happy. "So we're taking turns? Okay, what are you doing here then?"

"Personal issues," he answered shortly.

Oliver wore a blank expression. "Oh," he replied.

Percy caught sight of his shirt, finally. "Puddlemere United?" he questioned skeptically.

He chuckled. "They're my team, literally."

Percy glanced at the table where the other guys who had come with Oliver sat. All the pieces clicked together and it all made sense.

He nodded in understanding. "That's right, I forgot."

"You never struck me as the forgetful type. Something must be wrong," he observed.

"You seem determined to figure it out. I guess some things never change."

Oliver's gaze shifted from Percy. He was fixated on something over his shoulder. "We're running out of time to chat, it seems," he murmured quietly.

Percy didn't understand. "What?" Oliver gestured toward the bar. When Percy followed his line of sight, he saw the barmaid skittering over with a tray weighed down with several butterbeers. "I see," he confirmed with his mouth pulled into a thin line.

Oliver stood and smiled brightly. When he stuck out his hand, Percy gave a nod and shook it politely.

"Save those burning questions you must have until next time, yeah?"

"Next time..." Percy murmured. "Yes, that sounds... nice." A small smile had crept onto his lips.

Oliver laughed good-naturedly. "And when you're in better shape, maybe we can fight over the waitress."

This elicited a chuckle from Percy. "I might just have to take you up on that one," he remarked.

"Take it easy on the firewhiskey, okay?"

With a smile, he nodded. "Okay," he agreed.

Oliver took the tray with a smile and a wink before going back to his friends. When he sat down, he and Percy shared a look that lasted several too many seconds. Percy left the pub in a dazed stupor.

He didn't know exactly when he had fallen for Oliver Wood. Maybe he had loved him all along, and it took just one long overdue conversation and a stolen glance to convince him.

All Percy knew was that he was definitely a fan of Puddlemere United.


End file.
